


to slow down the time

by brownheadedstranger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownheadedstranger/pseuds/brownheadedstranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn’t normally meet boys in public restrooms, but he meets Harry anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to slow down the time

“I reckon I’d shag Robert Pattinson,” Louis says once they’ve pulled up to the curb. “Only if he kept his mouth shut, though.”

Zayn rumble-laughs around the spliff. “Why’s that?” 

Louis shrugs. “Seems like a loon.” 

“You’re probably right.” He hands Louis the rest to finish off. “A right nutter. Like you.” 

Louis hums his agreement, breathes deep. Through the weed, he can see the cogs turning in Zayn’s head from the way he checks his eyes in the rearview mirror and sprays the Febreeze he keeps in his glove compartment. It’s been a while since they’ve hung out and whenever he thinks of the reason why, he gets a little sick. He figures a late night showing of _Breaking Dawn_ isn’t a bad price to pay for time with his best friend. 

“Christ,” Zayn coughs. “My throat’s all scratchy.” 

“Like you’re not used to it.” Louis takes one last drag and throws the rest out the window, thankful for some fresh air. “Come inside for a glass of water? You could spend the night.” 

Zayn smiles — just sad enough for Louis to feel guilty about it. 

“Thanks, but I’ve got a bottle in the back. And.” He rests his hand gently around Louis’ wrist. “Should probably get home, anyway. Liam worries.” 

“Right.” He fumbles for the door handle. “He could. Join us, maybe, one day. If he wanted. If _you_ wanted. Does he smoke, anyway?” 

“Probably not. Doesn’t even know that I do. This, that is.” 

Louis lets himself out of the car. “You’re even more fucked up than I am.” 

“Yeah. Maybe,” Zayn concedes. “You’re driving next time we see a shitty movie, by the way. Put some petrol in your car.” 

Once Zayn is gone and Louis’ inside, he wonders when next time might be. 

_  
_

***

_  
_

Louis is a restless sleeper, and more so lately than usual. 

He messes with the heating and tangles in and out of his sheets and waits until half past three before pulling his headphones out, opting for total silence instead. It takes some time like it always does, and tonight, he half-dreams about Zayn and when he used to live here, when he filled the empty spaces in the bookshelf and in the cabinets and in Louis’ bed. He gets cold just thinking about it, but he pulls the duvet over his shoulders and finally forces himself to sleep. 

_  
_

***

_  
_

He’s running late when he finally gets to work the next day. It’s a relatively shitty morning but he’s already called out several times in the last month, so he has to go. But Zayn’s text — _dinner with me an liam this week?_ — haunts him the whole way there. He misses the morning rush and he’s silently thankful. 

By noon, he takes off his nametag because he hates the way it catches on his jumper. It’s a quiet day in the coffee house with mostly unassuming work, other than when he has to take orders because Aiden hates being in the front. Otherwise, it’s small and it’s tucked away and it pays. And since dropping out of uni, that’s about all he can ask for. 

He leaves Zayn’s text unanswered, sitting in his phone and waiting for him like a time bomb. Instead, he thinks about how much simpler it used to be, back when either of them would bring back takeout from the shitty Japanese place down the street and they’d sit cross-legged in front of the television in trackies and socks and nothing else. 

They’re not broken up because there was nothing to _break_ up in the first place, but they’re not together either and somehow, it’s unbearable to think about. 

When he gets into his car later that evening, he’s famished and he thinks _maybe sushi_. 

_  
_

***

_  
_

He lights up in his car and steps into the cool air outside. He never comes to this park, not since Zayn chose — decided on — Liam and moved out of their place together. But the park is right behind the flat and Louis doesn’t feel like going home right away, so why not. 

It’s big, he realizes, bigger than he ever gave it credit for. They only ever sat on the swings or on the jungle gym, exchanging a joint and a few jokes between them. But now, there’s a walking trail that he follows away from the playground and into a cluster of trees. Maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s something else, but he doesn’t mind walking through the dark. It’s a safe area and he thinks he’s a fast enough runner, if it ever comes to that. 

He’s heavy-lidded and feeling just right, and he sends a silent word of thanks to anyone up there that he has the day off tomorrow. Maybe he’ll spend it on the sofa watching movies, or maybe he’ll finally Skype his sisters because he can’t even imagine how much bigger they’ve gotten. 

He misses them, but then again, he’s done enough missing already.

_  
_

***

_  
_

There’s a public lavatory ahead, one that looks just about as bad as it smells from over here. But he did have a lot of sake with his sushi earlier and smoking always makes his bladder feel fuzzy for some reason, so fuck it. He needs a wee. 

The joint crushes easily under his shoe, and it isn’t until he’s closer to the toilet that he sees a few others standing outside. Other men, he notices. It’s kind of hard to make anything out since there aren’t any lampposts nearby, but he does remember Zayn telling him one thing or another about a cruising scene in the area, so it makes sense in an odd sort of way. 

The one closest is dark and lean, hanging out by the litterbin and making eyes at Louis before he even walks in. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he moves his wallet from the back pocket into the front one with his mobile and car keys. He feels stupid afterward, but Dark And Lean only smirks at him. 

“And how are you?” Dark And Lean asks, but Louis shrugs him off. 

“No thanks.” And he doesn’t know what he’s saying ‘no’ to, but he gets an amused _okay_ anyway and he takes that as permission to go inside. 

It’s dimly lit inside with one of the lights flickering overhead. The smell isn’t so bad any more or he’s used to it by now but either way, he can’t help but feel out of his element. Of course he knows of toilets like these and he’s heard enough to know what they’re like. But he’s never been, nor has he ever felt the need. And it’s not like he knew this was here to begin with, practically in his backyard, of all places. 

He briefly catches his reflection in the mirror before a stall opens and two men walk out together. One looks lazy and boneless and the other looks pleased with watery, red-rimmed eyes. Louis knows both those looks very well and he lets them leave without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. 

Barely half a minute later, two others walk into the room and occupy the stall furthest from him. Louis turns on a faucet, needing the distraction. 

“Y’alright there?” 

Louis jumps at the voice and turns around to see a tall boy with curly hair leaning against the wall near the door. He hadn’t even noticed him when he came in. 

“Excuse me?” 

He walks toward Louis and grabs his wrist without hesitating. 

“D’you want to get a stall?” 

His voice is deep. And it’s husky in a way Louis thinks must work for him a lot of the time. If not, he figures his green eyes and milky skin should do the trick. He wants to reach out and pet the curls lain across his forehead, but instead he shoves his hand into his pocket to grab onto something, just to make sure. 

Curly smirks at that, too. “Well?” 

“Have you just been waiting here?” 

“Maybe.” There’s a ghost of something else on his face, but Louis misses it, whatever it is. “Does it matter?” 

“No. I suppose not.” 

“So is that a yes? Because you’re kind of stupidly beautiful, and I have a feeling you’re the best offer I’m going to get all night.” 

And to punctuate his point, he looks at Louis from head to toe and back, his green eyes shameless and hungry.

Louis swallows hard. He still feels loose in a way that’s good, and he knows if he walked back to his car right now, it would all go to waste. 

And Zayn is probably curled up with Liam halfway across town, anyway. 

“The best offer?” he repeats. “Really?”

Curly’s eyes light up and this seems like less and less of a bad idea. “Cross my heart.”

Louis smiles, in spite of himself. “Yeah. Okay.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

It’s quick, but he supposes that with things like this, they have to be. 

When he gets back to his flat, he falls limply into bed without bothering to brush his teeth or shuck off the excess layers of clothing. He should probably shower, or take off his dirty pants at the very least. 

But he falls asleep quickly and easily for a change. And when he dreams, he dreams of curls between his fingers and his thighs.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Zayn shows up on his doorstep the next day. He doesn’t say anything when he sees Louis in pajama bottoms at four in the afternoon, and he shoulders in without a word. Louis sighs and follows him into the kitchen. 

“Did you get my text?” he asks, pouring water from the tap. And when Louis nods, “I wasn’t sure.” 

“I was busy.” And Louis doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he adds, “I met somebody last night.” 

Zayn’s eyebrow quirks in response but otherwise, nothing. He watches Louis carefully, almost like he’s waiting for more. But the subsequent smile on his face is slow and real. 

“That’s great, Lou,” he says, and it sounds sincere. “Bring him to dinner tomorrow night?” 

“I — dinner? Tomorrow night?” 

Zayn rolls his eyes and finishes his water. “Yes, you arsehole. Tomorrow night with me and Liam. That’s what happens when you don’t respond. Plans get made without you.” 

Louis pulls a face. “Technically, you’ve made plans _with_ me. I’m only catching up.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Zayn smiles and sets his glass in the sink. “Dress appropriately, won’t you? Meaning no low-cut tanks. And bring your boy.” 

He leans against the counter and knits his fingers together in front of him. “I’ll have to think about that dress code. And I’ll be coming alone, sorry to say. The boy was a…” He waves his hand through the air. “One-off thing, I suppose.” 

Zayn approaches him, still smiling but softer this time, and holds his wrist like he’s always done. If he notices the light bruise there that Curly left behind, he doesn’t mention it. 

“As long as you’re there.” He pecks Louis’ cheek and the spot burns in its wake. “I should leave. I’ve got to pick up Liam from work, and I only wanted to make sure you weren’t sat here purposefully avoiding my text messages.” 

“Never.” But it sounds unconvincing even to him, so he winks for good measure. “Now go. I have to rethink my wardrobe for tomorrow.” 

Zayn shakes his head fondly. “Nutter.” 

When he’s gone, Louis presses down on the bruise just beneath the nub of his wrist, as a reminder.

_  
_

***

_  
_

They never got together officially or anything like that. They met at the start of sixth form and got on really well. By wintertime, when his bed got cold, Zayn was there every other night to keep it warm. And it stayed that way for a long while, even when they moved away for uni and Louis found a crappy flat for them to share. They talked about getting a kitten once, but it was always them at the end of the day. 

Louis remembers when it started feeling unhealthy, right around the time they realized they couldn’t afford uni anymore. Dates grew few and far between and he stopped thinking of his bed as his own. He thought it was the same for Zayn, who never complained and always curled around him at night. But it wasn’t the same, not when he met Liam at the post office. 

Which is why, looking through his closet, Louis figures green jeans and his skintight, white scoop-neck shirt should be appropriate for tonight. Zayn will remember it and that’s what Louis wants — for Zayn to remember.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Zayn’s eyes nearly fly out of his head and that’s not exactly what he was going for, but Louis will take it. 

“Hiya, Zayn. Liam.” He hugs them each once before sitting down because that’s something he can do. “Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t decide on what to wear.” 

“Was that a problem for you, then?” Zayn watches him like he can’t decide between anger and amusement. 

Louis shrugs. “‘S a daily trial, darling.” 

Liam chuckles and that seems to diffuse Zayn’s mood, even though he can’t stop leering at Louis’ collarbones. “We ordered some starters, if you don’t mind. Don’t know if you like prawns — ” 

“Love ‘em,” Louis lies, and he ignores Zayn’s look of confusion from across the table. 

Liam beams from across the candlelight and Louis crumples a little on the inside. “Excellent. Thanks for coming, Lou. Z said you’d been busy lately.” 

“Kinda.” He swallows around _Z_ and presses on. “Selling cappuccinos and weeping over my broken love life is an all-day endeavor, boys.” 

Zayn frowns and Louis pretends not to notice. 

“I’ve got a friend I could introduce you to,” Liam offers earnestly. “He’s blond — ” 

“Oh, stop right there.” Louis holds a hand up. “Sweet, sweet Liam. ‘Fraid blond’s not my type. Fetch me tall, dark and handsome, and then we’ll talk.” 

Liam smiles bashfully and Zayn pointedly avoids Louis’ gaze, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek instead and muttering something about _so thoughtful_ into his ear. 

When the waiter comes to take their order, Liam and Zayn ask for 7UP and Louis asks for the biggest glass of red available.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Zayn never told Liam about the two of them, and when Louis asked why, he said there was “nothing to tell, anyway.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

Dark And Lean isn’t waiting outside the toilet when Louis comes back after dinner. It’s the first place that comes to mind when he leaves the restaurant with a joint between his lips, and he doesn’t even want to think about what that might say about him. 

Of the four stalls, two are already occupied and the sounds from inside are absolutely obscene. But Louis keeps his attention on the curly-haired boy standing at the sink with his back turned to him. He looks a little spacey but their eyes meet in the mirror and Curly’s pink lips twist upward. 

“I’m Harry, by the way.” He looks at Louis’ trousers. “A bit camp, don’t you think?” 

Louis doesn’t respond. 

“They match my eyes, at least.” The boy — Harry — turns around to face him full on. “Funny, I didn’t think I’d see you here again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Harry shrugs. “Not a bad thing. I can just tell with some people.” 

“Well, you were wrong.” 

Harry’s eyes sparkle when they size him up. “Apparently.” He walks over, immediately holding Louis’ hip with one huge hand and cupping the back of his neck with the other. “Are you going to tell me your name?” 

“Louis,” he says as they back into the handicap stall. 

“Louis,” Harry repeats, locking the door behind him. “Why’re you here, Louis?” He starts unfastening his braces. 

He feels defensive suddenly, even now, when he’s unbuttoning Harry’s trousers. “Had a bit of a shit night, to be honest. Sorry if that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.” 

Harry pauses and his eyes light up with mirth. “Seems like a good enough answer for me. Brought you back here, and that’s what matters.” He tosses the braces over the toilet paper roll and digs his fingers into Louis’ waistband. 

“Wait.” Louis grabs him by his forearms. “Can we, just, for a moment?” 

He doesn’t give Harry a chance to respond before he’s tilting his chin up and they’re kissing. They skipped past this last time, but Harry’s lips are warm and slick and just what he needs right now. He tugs on those curls and Harry responds by reaching around and squeezing his arse. 

“What do you want?” Harry breathes into Louis’ mouth. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me, yeah.” 

Harry kisses his chin sweetly, and it isn’t long before he’s turning Louis around and slipping wet fingers in. Louis braces himself against the wall, grabbing onto a handicap bar for support. 

“You have to be quiet,” Harry whispers as he scissors his fingers. “Don’t want to disturb the others.” 

Louis can’t see or think straight. “Do you — should I pay you or something?” 

Harry laughs as he curls his fingers upward, making Louis shiver down his spine. “I _wish_ I got paid to do this, mate. I work pro bono.” 

“Pro boner, more like,” Louis pants, never one to pass up an opportunity. He shudders. “Fucking fuck me already.” 

Harry kisses — he likes doing that, apparently — Louis’ shoulder blade and rolls a condom on before nudging in slowly. 

Someone in another stall groans loudly, but Louis can’t be bothered.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Zayn is already leaning against the brick wall behind the coffee house when Louis gets out. This is something they used to do, and Louis didn’t think he’d show up even after he got the text that morning. 

“You’re here,” he says, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling. 

“I’m here.” Zayn nods and offers up the Sainsbury’s bag. “Salt beef or roast chicken. Pick your poison.” 

“Roast chicken, obviously.” Louis pulls the sandwich out and can’t remember the last time he didn’t have to pack his own lunch, or steal a muffin from the tin inside. 

Zayn watches him uncertainly the whole time, like he can’t get past words that he wants to say. But Louis actually prefers the silence and would rather save himself the trouble of making conversation around a mouthful of sandwich. Lunch is good. Lunch is safe. 

Louis offers him a cigarette when they’re finished and he tries not to take it personally when Zayn pushes it away.

“Liam asked me to quit,” he explains. “I’m trying.” 

He lights up, breathes deep, and nods.

_  
_

***

_  
_

He goes over to Liam’s flat one night, watching movies on the television Zayn brought with him from their old flat. Liam smiles at him from where he’s sat in Zayn’s lap and Louis goes through four beers in an hour. 

Liam’s friend — Niall — is there, too, and he’s paired with Louis by default when they start playing FIFA. Niall is nice and actually pretty funny and judging from his blond hair, Louis supposes this is the friend Liam mentioned over dinner. He’s laidback and Louis lets him eat his leftover pizza crusts, but he doesn’t think it would work out if they made a go of it. Even here, with Zayn nosing against Liam’s neck, it’s hard to think of anyone in that way.

_  
_

***

_  
_

The third time, Harry isn’t there. 

It stings at first, but then it reaffirms Louis’ notion that Harry must do something else with his life other than cruise public restrooms. He waits around for five minutes before it starts feeling weird, especially with only one other couple in the room with him. 

The nights are getting colder, and Louis wishes he’d brought a coat with him. He combats the chill the only way he knows how, pulling a crumpled cigarette from his back pocket and twining it between his fingers before lighting it and putting it to his lips. He might wank later, but his Internet has been shitty as of late, and he really doesn’t want to rely on memory. Maybe he’ll sleep instead. 

When he gets to the parking lot, Harry is there and visibly shocked when his eyes land on Louis. 

Louis tosses the cigarette to the ground and digs his hands into his pockets. “You weren’t there.” 

“I wasn’t going to come, but I thought twice about it. Glad I did, though.” 

Louis shrugs and goosepimples appear along his arms. “It’s cold. I think I’m going to head home instead.” 

Harry looks warm in his zip-up and beanie. “Where’s home?”

“Around the corner.” 

“This yours?” He nods at the only car in the lot, parked next to his own. “I’ll come with you.” 

Something tells him he should say no, but he can always blame it on the cold if anyone asks him later.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Harry is the first person that Louis’ had at the flat in ages and he walks around in his red tube socks like he’s already memorized everything in the fifteen minutes he’s been here. He comes out of the kitchen several minutes later with a mug of tea in each hand, setting them down on the coffee table and sidling up close on the ratty old couch. When Louis breathes in, he smells earthy cologne. 

“Your kettle’s much better than mine,” Harry says with a lopsided grin. “Mine takes ages to boil.” 

“Thanks. Zayn bought it,” he answers without thinking. 

“Zayn?” 

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Former flatmate and friend-type thingy.” 

“‘Friend-type thingy,’” Harry mimics. “Do you have plenty of those?” 

“He’s the only one.” And to keep from saying more stupid things, he grabs his tea and pulls a long sip from it. 

They sit for a while, drinking from their mugs and watching the muted television in silence. At one point, Harry yawns while stretching his arms and subtly moving closer on the couch. Louis pretends not to notice, but he can practically feel Harry’s body heat rolling off in waves. 

It’s weird, having Harry here and realizing that he’s really only met him twice and both times had been for sex. He’s doesn’t normally sleep around (though he could) and since having met Zayn, he can count the number of people he’s slept with on one hand. But he catches Harry looking at him and he pushes Zayn out of his mind. 

“What? Have I dribbled on my chin or something?” 

Harry smiles. “I’m just wondering if this is something you usually do. Bring home strange boys and sit with them without saying a word.” 

Louis makes a face. “It’s not.” He feels bad now. “Sorry. To be fair, though, you invited yourself over.” 

“I know.” He’s smiling even wider now and Louis almost wants to turn away. “And don’t be sorry. It’s nice, actually. You were right. It’s cold outside.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently. “It is.” 

He’s about to say something else, something about how Harry should leave and get some sleep. But then Harry is kissing him, pressing but somewhat hesitant like he’s seeking permission. And Louis probably shouldn’t, because heading to the toilet the first time had been a bad idea and heading there tonight certainly even more so. 

But he spreads his legs instinctively and that’s all the permission Harry needs before he’s straddling Louis and tracing a path from his lips to his neck with little open-mouthed kisses. Louis thinks he should probably be high for this, but Harry is helping enough by expertly undoing his trousers and curling long fingers around his cock. 

They’re already too far gone and yet Louis still feels the nagging need to protest. But his breath stutters instead, and Harry laughs.

_  
_

***

_  
_

The next morning, Louis has new bruises on his neck and a new number in his mobile. He wants to ignore both, but he heads to work feeling a little lighter than usual. And when Zayn calls him during his lunch break, he lets it run to voicemail.

_  
_

***

_  
_

“It’s cold as fuck outside and you want ice cream?” Harry asks when he sees Louis again. The ice cream parlor is just down the street from the park where they first met, but they both drive there anyway. 

It’s the first time that they’re meeting during the day and Louis feels like it’s worth noting, almost like it’s adding a whole new dimension to this sex-only thing they’ve got going so far. But he had a day off and Harry mentioned he was bored, so here they are. 

“What can I say?” Louis peers into the display case. “I wanted mint chocolate chip.” 

“Always a good choice,” Harry confirms before leaving a quick kiss to the back of his neck. Louis bites the inside of his cheek.

When they’re sat down, Harry leans over and takes a spoonful from Louis’ cup, earning a quick smack to the top of his head. But before he can retaliate, Louis kicks his shin and tangles their legs together underneath the table. He does it without thinking, and he can see the faintest shade of pink on Harry’s cheeks, even when he’s scowling. But he focuses on his ice cream, acting like he doesn’t see. 

“You’re, like, really young,” he observes absently. “Or you just seem really young,” Louis adds when Harry feigns a look of hurt. “Young isn’t a bad thing, though. I’m twenty and my creaky joints could use some lubing up in the mornings.” 

“Lube. Dirty.” Harry gives a filthy smirk. 

Louis groans and screws his eyes shut. “Nevermind. Young, you’re definitely young.” 

“Eighteen. That doesn’t count as definitely young, does it?” 

“No, not really,” he agrees, smiling. “Young is like, sixteen.” 

“I was a catch when I was sixteen,” Harry says very seriously. 

Louis snorts. “And what about now?” 

“I dunno. You tell me.” He takes a thoughtful pause from his ice cream. “I like singing, but I can’t dance for shit. Really, you’d laugh. Other than that, I’m a big animal person, especially when it comes to cats. I like holding hands and I like beaches but I don’t like playing in the water because the ocean is actually pretty terrifying. I’m a bit pasty, but I’m tall, so I think that makes up for it. Currently obsessed with the new xx album and, oh, I’m an art student.” 

Louis makes a face. “Art student? I hate art students.” 

“Shut up.” Harry flicks his wrist. “You don’t hate me. And I’m quite good, actually.” 

“Whatever. That’s, like, the art student credo. You can’t say you’re _not_ good. Otherwise, you’d ruin your cred.” 

Harry thinks about that and all his features scrunch together in confusion. “We have cred? Is that, like, the same as street cred?” 

Louis waves him away with his spoon. “I don’t know what I’m saying, honestly. So you’re in uni?” 

“Kind of.” And when Louis’ eyebrows go up, he leans forward on his elbows. “Only when I want to be. I skip class a lot. Like right now.” 

“You’re skipping right now?” Louis asks, blinking. 

“Sure.” 

“Then why’d you agree to meet me?” 

“I wanted to see you.” 

Louis hums. “That’s weird.” 

Harry laughs and messes with his fringe. “What, that I wanted to see you?” 

“I guess.” Louis takes a last spoonful and pushes his cup next to Harry’s empty one. “You shouldn’t skip. I dropped out of uni with my best friend, and now he’s moved out and I’m working in a coffee house. That’s basically all you need to know.” 

“So, what, you’re a barista?” 

“Not exactly. How long have you been doing the toilet thing?” 

Harry gives him a look. 

“What?” 

“You’re just.” He laughs a little disbelievingly. “Your brain-to-mouth filter is a disaster, that’s all. Erm, for a while, a couple months in total.” 

“Oh.” Louis shifts in his seat. “Why?” 

“Why?” Harry repeats. “Does anyone really have a reason?” 

He shifts forward in his chair and his knees hit Harry’s. “I have one, which is, I was high and I walked in accidentally.” 

“That explains why you looked so skittish.” Harry smiles to himself, lost in the memory. “Anyways. I dunno. Sex, for the most part.” 

“And the other part?” Louis asks, genuinely curious. 

“The people are nice,” Harry offers slowly. “The ones I get to know, at least. And there haven’t been a lot of those.” 

“Ah.” That’s all Louis can really think to say. He can’t imagine what the other people are like, the faceless ones that walk in, do their business, and walk out. But he can imagine what Harry is like, the way his legs wobble or the way he whimpers helplessly before he comes. Louis likes picking up on these things and memorizing the way people get during sex. He figures if they notice _his_ weaknesses and kinks, he might as well arm himself with theirs. “Flattered to join such an elite group, then.” 

“As you should be,” Harry says. 

They sit in silence again and it should be weird, to sit and say absolutely nothing, but it’s just the opposite. For a brief moment, Louis wonders if the silence means something, if there’s something right in front of him he’s not picking up on. But when he looks up, it’s only Harry in front of him, face soft and swirling his spoon in the melted mess of his ice cream.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Harry follows back to the flat, where they wind up fucking twice — first on the couch where they’d done the last time and a second time in Louis’ bed, normally and slow and thoughtful for once. They try for a third time in the shower, even when they’re a little lazy and there are bruises cleaved into Louis’ hips. But they end up slipping and falling, Louis landing hard on his knees and Harry collapsing on top of him. When they’ve finished laughing, Harry kisses the pain away and blows him for good measure. 

In the living room, Louis pays him back in kind with a warm blanket and a mug of tea. They watch several infomercials and fantasize about dream kitchens and living rooms until Harry has to leave.

_  
_

***

_  
_

“Niall mentioned he saw you the other day.” 

“Oh?” He doesn’t look up from his carton of lo mein. Liam is on a quick run for a banoffee pie at Tesco and Louis doesn’t like being alone with Zayn in their flat. It just feels weird somehow. “Where?” 

Zayn clicks his chopsticks together thoughtfully. “At the cinema. He said you were with another bloke. Have you been seeing someone?” 

Louis tenses. He knows what day Zayn is talking about. Harry didn’t have classes and convinced him to call out from work so they could watch a movie. They ended up walking around and playing in the park when nothing caught their interest, and Harry even left his beanie behind after fucking bent over the kitchen counter. It had been a nice day overall. 

“Erm. No. That was Aiden,” he lies. “We both had the day off. Thought we’d spend it together.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Zayn hums, his eyes trained on the football playing on the telly. He doesn’t mention that Louis and Aiden _never_ spend time together. “I like hearing about your life and I was only wondering.” 

Louis nods with a tight smile. He wants to ask Zayn why, why he would even ask when he’s with Liam and they’re living together and they’re agreeing on posh-as-hell desserts like a fucking banoffee pie.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Harry inhales deeply, his face mashed into Louis’ chest. His nose-breath tickles and Louis squirms underneath him. They’re both coming down from their high, courtesy of a pre-sex joint, and it’s cold in the flat, being after midnight and all. But the duvet is on the floor and neither of them feels like moving to grab it. Instead, Louis drapes an arm across Harry’s bare back, his skin still fever warm in the aftermath, and he decides he doesn’t really need the duvet as it is. 

“I like your place,” Harry murmurs into his sternum. 

“I’ve never seen yours.” 

“Ha.” He looks up with glassy eyes and rosy cheeks and swollen lips and Louis thinks he’s beautiful like this. “You’d hate it. It’s a tiny thing next to the uni, covered from floor to ceiling in my work.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “You’re right. I’d hate it.” 

Harry giggles and swats at Louis’ collarbone. “It’s better here, anyway. Central heating and all.” 

“And loads of good that’s done us,” Louis says flatly, but Harry skims fingertips along his side and he’s not that cold anymore. “Shouldn’t you be heading back soon? Don’t you have class and whatnot?” 

“Not too early.” Harry shifts so his knee slides between Louis’ calves. “I could stay, probably.” 

“Best not,” Louis says, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “I have work early, and _yes_ , I have to go.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, but Louis can feel him staring, and it should bother him that he can probably see into his nostrils, but whatever. They’ve only spent the night together once on accident, and he really does have work in the morning, so he’s not lying. 

“Where do you work, by the way?” 

Louis clears his throat. “Downtown. Why?” 

“Give me the address. I’m visiting tomorrow.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

So he’s not that surprised when Harry shows up half past two the following day with his curls pulled back under a beanie and a rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He beams when he walks in, and Louis busies himself with rearranging the croissants in the display case. 

“You’re working alone?” he asks, taking a seat at the bar and leaning over the counter for a kiss. 

“Aiden’s in the back.” Louis considers for a second before pecking Harry quickly on the lips. “So yeah, basically. What’ll you have?” 

Harry quirks a brow. “What’ll you give me?” 

“Whatever you can pay for,” he says, winking and swaying his hips on his way to the back room. When he comes back out with a cranberry muffin he’s saved, he feels particularly proud of the way Harry watches him, licking his lips. 

“Don’t let anybody catch you,” Louis warns when he sets the muffin in front of him. “Those go quickly in the mornings.” 

“And tea?” Harry asks hopefully, eyes wide. 

“Brat,” he grumbles under his breath. But he brings Harry a mug of Yorkshire tea, anyway. “I’ll just add it to your tab.” And when Harry blows him a kiss, Louis goes to clean the espresso machine. 

It’s slow today, so he doesn’t really need the extra help up front. Besides, it affords him the opportunity to sneak quick glances at Harry, who’s settled down with a sketchbook and an expensive-looking pencil that has Louis thinking _art students, honestly_. He tries peering over each time he walks past, but Harry blocks the view with his arm. 

“It’s a surprise,” he insists, sounding like a child. 

Louis grabs and eats the last piece of muffin, ignoring Harry’s annoyed yowl. “I don’t care anyway.” 

Harry just nods and smirks knowingly. “Okay.” 

He stays there for the rest of Louis’ shift, not moving and not speaking other than to ask for a refill of his tea. Louis watches the way he bites his lip and wrinkles his brow in concentration, and he would find it endearing if he didn’t find the silence mildly concerning. When he’s ready to leave at five, he’s about to ask Harry if everything is okay, but stops short when he sees the blinding smile on his face. 

“What?” he asks slowly. 

“I drew you.” His chest puffs out proudly. 

Louis is genuinely, and probably stupidly, confused. “What?” he repeats. 

Harry slides the sketchbook across the counter and flips it around so Louis can see. It’s rough and unfinished and mostly a sketch, but there’s shading and dimension and it’s still better than anything he’d ever be able to draw. And there’s no doubt that it’s him, leaning against the counter and staring to the side. When he looks up, Harry is still smiling, albeit a little more warily. 

“D’you like it?” And he looks so _young_. 

He’ll probably regret it later because he gets weird about public displays of affection, but he closes the gap between them and kisses Harry, slow and lingering. Harry seems dazed when they pull back. 

“I still hate art students.” Louis pokes his nose. “Just as a disclaimer.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

Harry gives him the drawing. And because he’d feel weird about putting a drawing of himself _anywhere_ for safekeeping, he pins it on the fridge until he can find a better place to put it. But he sees Harry smile around his mug of tea, and he ducks his head to keep from doing the same. 

They don’t fuck, but Louis feels bad for dragging Harry to his flat without some kind of recompense, so he wanks him off and wipes him down gently with a warm washcloth. He goes to change into a shirt that doesn’t smell like coffee grounds, but Harry tugs him down easily by the collar for a deep, sweet kiss. They’re getting good at this, Louis thinks. 

Harry tells him as much. “You’re good at this, at everything.” He sighs and slumps against the pillows, tucking Louis into his side. “I should’ve known from the beginning.” 

“I’m offended.” Louis bumps his nose against Harry’s rib. “My talents are obvious to everyone else.” 

“It’s obvious to me now,” Harry says earnestly, squeezing his shoulder. “And that’s the important part, yeah?” 

Louis shrugs, his stomach fluttering. He digs his face into the sheets. 

“Hey.” 

He looks up with one eye. “Yeah?” 

“Y’alright?” 

“Yeah.” Louis flips over onto his back and Harry hauls him over so that he’s half draped over his chest. “D’you still go? To the toilets, I mean?” 

Harry looks at him, momentarily confused. But Louis wipes away the wrinkles on his forehead with his thumb. 

“No,” Harry says eventually. 

“Why not?” 

He kisses the top of Louis’ head. “It’s cold out there. It’s warm in here.” 

“Oh.” Louis can smell Harry’s cologne everywhere, will probably smell it in his sheets for nights to come. “Okay.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

They see each other most of that next week, several times at night and once in the day when Harry comes back to visit Louis at work. Aiden and Matt seem to like him, more so when he leaves behind a caricature drawing of them enclosed in a big heart. Harry is smug about it afterward, and Louis pretends to ignore him until he’s forced into the bedroom with curls between his thighs and pink, hot heat on his cock. 

Zayn texts on the same night that Harry finally invites Louis to his flat, hesitant and stumbling over his words around a cigarette. They fuck on a heap of charcoal drawings and discarded condom wrappers, waking up to passive aggressive notes slipped under the door, each one complaining about the noise from the night before. 

He finally checks his mobile back at his flat, and he aches only a little when he reads the message. 

_i miss you x_

_  
_

***

_  
_

Everything goes to shit a couple days after that. 

It starts with another text from Zayn, part of a conversation they’ve steadily maintained over their mobiles. He casually mentions that he and Liam have adopted a puppy — a rescue hound they’ve named Wilson — and that’s about all that Louis can handle. 

He holes himself in the flat for a full day, blocking all communication and struggling to get past breakfast at noon. And when he goes to work two joints deep, he’s too slow and too sad to deal with customers, much less to make a fucking cappuccino. Aiden covers for him that first time, but it doesn’t work as well the next day, when he’s somehow both high and annoyed, snapping at a frail-looking woman who comes up to the counter asking for a new tea because _I ordered chamomile, not oolong._

There aren’t a lot of customers around, thankfully, but Louis lets his voice reach a pitch normally reserved for pub crawls and footie matches. Matt comes running, looking stricken, and Louis is only halfway apologetic when he’s sent into the back room to be dealt with later on. 

He’s fired, obviously, but not so obviously because he’s come into work high before, but he’s also never screamed at a woman before and there’s a first time for everything, but not quite in a good way. 

Matt feels bad about it, but it’s the principle of the thing or some shit like that, and Louis doesn’t think he can cope with that kind of pity anyway, so he tells him he understands. There’ve been complaints in the past, once when Louis had brought a flask to work, but that was before Aiden and back when Matt had a not-so-secret crush on him. 

When he leaves, there are hugs all around and he holds up surprisingly well until he gets home and crumples to the floor, salt in his eyes.

_  
_

***

_  
_

He texts Harry to ask him where he is, careful not to call because he’ll blubber or something stupid like that. 

_in class…i’ve been told not to skip, remember? x_

Of course he remembers, so he does the only other thing he knows how to do and dials Zayn’s number. At least he’s used to Louis crying.

_  
_

***

_  
_

“I’ve fucked it all up.” 

“You’ve not fucked it all up.” Zayn runs a finger through the condensation on his beer bottle. “What’s that saying, the one about one door closing and another opening?” 

“That’s the whole of it,” Louis hiccups. For seven in the evening, he’s doing a spectacular job of getting pissed. He can’t even tell if Zayn’s keeping up. “And you’re wrong. Christmas is less than a month away. How do I explain to my sisters that I’ve come home empty-handed because I’ve lost my job?” 

Zayn shakes his head. “They won’t care.” 

“I’ll care.” Louis groans, pulling another sip from his bottle. His phone vibrates next to him on the couch, but he ignores it. He already knows who it is, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. 

“You shouldn’t.” Zayn rubs his free hand consolingly, and Louis doesn’t back away from the touch. “Maybe you could go back to school.” 

He scoffs, the taste of alcohol strong and brackish in the back of his throat. “I couldn’t. We dropped out together.” 

“But that doesn’t mean we have to stay out together,” Zayn says shrewdly. “You’ve saved up, haven’t you?” 

Louis grumbles. “Probably spent it all on weed and booze.” 

“No, you haven’t.” Zayn smiles gently, his hand still on Louis’. 

His phone buzzes again with no less urgency. He screws his eyes shut, like that’ll make it go away. 

“You going to get that?” 

“Maybe later,” Louis decides. He looks at where their hands are resting between them. “Where’s Liam? He doesn’t mind that you’re here?” 

Zayn shrugs. “Told him it was an emergency. It wasn’t a lie,” he adds when he sees Louis roll his eyes. “And he seemed to understand well enough.” 

“Good lad, that Liam.” 

Zayn doesn’t bother agreeing and points to Louis’ phone instead. “Are you going to bother telling me who that is?” 

He’s getting tired of hearing that, so rather than answering properly, he kisses Zayn instead. 

There’s a brief moment when he braces himself for the fallout, for the inevitable push of rejection or the punch to his jaw that he probably deserves. Besides, Zayn’s lips are frozen under his, and it’s not _really_ a kiss if there’s no reciprocity. But that stops being an issue a full second later, when Zayn responds and starts kissing back. It’s rough and unpracticed in a way that things left neglected often are. But it’s still familiar and it’s the most like home that this flat has felt in forever. 

Zayn’s grip curls at the base of Louis’ neck, fingertips tracing the soft skin there. Louis wants to swing a leg over and deepen the kiss, but he’s still kind of shocked by it all and he’ll probably throw up if he moves too quickly, so he settles for staying. When he runs out of breath, he has no choice but to pull away, and he’s afraid of what he’ll see when he opens his eyes. 

Whatever he expected, it’s not the sadness mingled with sympathy that he finds in Zayn’s eyes. Somehow, that’s worse than anything else, and he actually recoils like he’s been burnt when Zayn reaches out for him.

“No,” Louis says, afraid he might burst into tears again.

Zayn looks tired. “Are you telling, or asking?” 

He shakes his head; this is all too much. “Why did you let me do that?”

“You’re still my best friend.”

Louis begs him to leave when it feels too awkward, thanks him profusely for showing up when he didn’t have to, but asks him to go home all the same. Zayn nods and wordlessly does as he’s told, because Zayn has always been good at that, at understanding.

When he goes to grab another beer from the kitchen, he sees the drawing on the fridge. He pretends the unbalanced feeling in the pit of his stomach is nothing more than nausea and spends the next hour slung over the toilet, retching, because of it.

_  
_

***

_  
_

He calls Zayn two days later and almost wishes he hadn’t.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you right now,” Zayn says, voice heavy. There’s a pause, before, “I told him everything.” 

Louis swallows and for a second, he thinks he’ll be sick again. “Told Liam everything?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” His eyes prickle and he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Zayn sighs. “We just bought a puppy, Lou. We’re together and — and I don’t want to fuck it up with this one. We’re working it out.” Somewhere in the background, Wilson barks. “So I don’t think I can do us right now, not like this.”

He almost wants to applaud Zayn for staying and working it out with somebody for once in his fucking life. But he thinks twice about it, realizes that this is probably that one door closing and the other opening they’d been talking about, and hangs up.

_  
_

***

_  
_

For a few days, he feels shitty but he pushes through it with some kind of a routine. Most of the time, it means waking up before two in the afternoon and pulling out the paper over some oatmeal, circling job listings like they’re promises for change or something. 

His phone rings and buzzes and he lets it go to voicemail each time. He knows it isn’t Zayn because it’s been too short a time for not talking, but he feels bad for not answering all the same. 

_  
_

***

_  
_

Louis goes to the park with weed and alcohol in his system, enough that he can’t drive but not enough that he can’t stumble his way back to the restroom. It must be a busy night, because there are men propped up against the wall with other men on top of them, caught by their lips. He’s cold when he walks inside, seeking a familiar face with his arms wrapped around his middle. 

There’s no one here he recognizes, of course, but he makes eye contact with a beefy brunette by the paper towel dispenser and he figures _that’ll do_. They don’t really say anything in between falling into a freshly used stall and peeling off each other’s clothes in hungry anticipation. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he won’t see the darkening bruises across his neck when he wakes up in the morning, or the bite marks leading to the shell of his ear. Beefy pulls out a foil-wrapped condom and Louis needs the world to slow down. 

“Afraid not, love,” he says, pushing his arm away gently. “But I’ll get you if you get me.” 

Beefy pauses, nods, and frees Louis’ cock by tugging his pants down around his thighs. He gets to his knees and strokes him once, twice to full hardness and Louis is actually kind of surprised. 

He bangs his head against the partition, hard, and bites down on his lip until he draws blood because this is how it’s supposed to feel.

_  
_

***

_  
_

Harry is sitting on his doorstep when he gets back, and he can’t fathom why. 

“Jesus, Lou.” He jumps up to his feet and grabs hold of Louis, who goes limp in his arms. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s you.” He should probably say more than that, but he honestly can’t be fucked to do anything right now. 

Somehow, they wind up inside the flat and he figures that Harry’s taken the keys from his pocket. Harry deposits him on the couch and disappears into the kitchen, probably plugging in the kettle while he rifles through cabinets in search of something to help. Louis just wants to sleep. 

“Where were you?” Harry rushes in with a washcloth and a stricken look on his face. Then he’s wiping away the grime on Louis’ skin. “Are you high? Christ.” 

“A bit.” Louis wants to clamber away, but he’s boneless under Harry’s ministrations. “Was, rather.” 

“You’re feeling okay?” He’s worried but his shoulders fall in relief when Louis nods. Then his eyes go steely. “Where were you?” he repeats. 

“The park.” Louis gives a long-winded sigh. “I hate it there.” 

Harry freezes, crumples momentarily, and then draws his face together in concern again. “You shouldn’t go back there.” 

Louis groans, but he feels like a new person scrubbed clean. “I was lonely.” 

“You’re fucked up,” Harry says, soft but firm. “I’ll get you tea and then you’ll have a shower.” 

_No_ , Louis starts to say, but Harry’s already gone. When he comes back, he hauls Louis up so they’re pressed against each other down the side. He holds the mug to Louis’ lips and Louis practically jumps away when the tea burns his tongue. But Harry insists, and soon, he can barely register the sensation. 

“What got you this way?” Harry murmurs into his hair afterward, and Louis doesn’t want to think about all the possible answers to that, so he rolls away. 

“No,” he says finally, more a croak than anything else. 

Harry blinks. “No, what?” 

“We’re not doing this. You’re not taking care of me.” Louis shakes his head, tries to get up, but his arms won’t support him. He leans against the opposite arm rest. “I’ll have a shower and all, but you have to leave.” 

“I’m not leaving.” 

“Yes, you are.” Louis stares him down, unaffected by the reserve in Harry’s eyes. “Go away. Go back to the toilet or don’t, I don’t care. But find yourself some prissy and pretentious and equally hipster boyfriend and do that away from _here_.” 

“Fuck that.” Harry comes toward him and pins Louis’ legs down with his weight. “Shut up. Let’s get you clean.” 

“I’m perfectly clean, thanks.” 

“You smell like sex,” Harry says, voice breaking. “I’ll run you a bath. Come on.” 

Louis’s protests are lost on his tongue and he ends up following him to the bathroom, sitting down in the tub while Harry runs the water temperature somewhere just below scalding. They don’t make eye contact the whole way through, not when Harry shampoos his hair or scrubs soap down his spine or rinses him until he’s pink and shiny again. He’s wrapped in fleece when Harry sets him down in his bed and curls around his back, annoyingly still. 

“I had to do this,” Harry whispers just when Louis thinks he might fall asleep. “Your dishes are piled up in your sink. I had to do this.” 

Louis wants to shake his head or move, but he’s caged in Harry’s arms. 

“Don’t go back there,” Louis decides instead. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I think about you sometimes and — you’re too good for there. Don’t go back.” 

Harry holds him close, a full-body squeeze, and they fall asleep like that. 

_  
_

***

_  
_

When Louis wakes up the next morning, Harry isn’t there. It’s probably for the best.

_  
_

***

_  
_

It more or less stays the same way through to the holidays, when Louis goes home for a week with fewer presents than he’d normally have, but presents nonetheless. His mum and sisters kiss him all over, and when he goes to bed on the night of his birthday, Zayn calls. 

They talk for an hour, with Liam’s blessing, Louis soon realizes, and it feels better. 

Liam knows everything now, Louis learns when he comes back in time for the new year. He sympathizes, even, and tells him that he wouldn’t know what to do either if his best friend had left him like that. There’s Pimm’s in his bloodstream so he can go ahead and blame it on that, but Louis hugs Liam and cries into his neck as Zayn looks on. It’s a fucked up way of getting to where they are, but they’re here now and that’s all that matters. 

Barely a week later, Liam shows up alone to Louis’ flat and tells him there’s an opening for a secretary at the office where he works as a dental assistant. Louis can’t do it, especially when he didn’t know what Liam did with his life in the first place, but he’s eventually worn down by this sweet, sad little look Liam gets on his face, one he figures must work on Zayn incredibly well. He starts the next Monday and by then, he doesn’t know if he recognizes his life. 

He eventually sees that they’re perfect for each other, Zayn and Liam. It’s almost annoying how easily they fall into each other once Louis starts hanging around them long enough to notice. There’s a pang of something low and familiar in Louis’ chest each time, but it goes away day by day. 

As it turns out, Niall _isn’t_ the friend Liam had intended to set him up with, what with his preference for girls and all, but that doesn’t matter because they end up becoming great mates anyway and it’s nice to be able to call on someone else on nights when Zayn and Liam just aren’t willing to go out. He still eats Louis’ crusts and that’s fine, because he still doesn’t want them. 

“Things are good then?” Zayn asks one day when Louis drives Liam home from work and stays for a plate of spaghetti. 

He shrugs and bites into his garlic bread, tossing a small piece to Wilson. “Suppose so. Yeah.”

_  
_

***

_  
_

Louis is in a booth near the window of the coffee house, watching the rain fall outside. It’s the first rain of the season and even though it’s still freezing, he’s basically excited to shed the extra layers for something lighter. He pours some more milk in his tea, careful not to get any on the continuing education brochures Zayn handed him the night before. It’s his day off, and Zayn made him promise to apply to at least one place by nightfall. 

Matt winks at him from the counter and Louis grins because they were always friends and there were never any hard feelings. He can come here and not feel weird about it, wave at them and greet the occasional customer like it’s still his job. He gets odd looks sometimes, but he shrugs and figures he’d like to make someone’s day, even if it’s his own. 

The bell above the door jingles and when he looks up, he’s more surprised than he should probably be. 

Harry looks around for an empty seat, his coat tight and mottled wet. Louis doesn’t even bother pretending to look away and when their eyes meet, it seems to make sense. 

“I’m going to assume you’re on your own,” Harry says, smiling and taking the seat across from Louis. 

“Don’t know what I’ve done to make you assume that.” Louis looks down at his lap. “But you’d be right.” 

“Thought so.” Harry takes off his beanie and shakes his hair around until it’s back to its normal bird’s nest. “Didn’t you get sacked from here?” 

“Don’t you have class?” 

Harry’s eyes light up with mischief, and he smirks in a way that Louis didn’t even know he’d memorized. He takes a look at the brochures on the table and his expression changes to soft, happy recognition. 

“I haven’t been able to draw anything recently. I’ve come here looking for inspiration,” he explains, pulling out his sketchbook and showing him its empty pages. “First time I’ve skipped in months, though, believe me.” 

Louis swirls his spoon in his tea. “How’d you know I got sacked anyway?” 

“I’ve been in once or twice,” Harry admits, looking out the window. “Matt told me the whole story.” 

He nods and thinks maybe, one of these days, he’d like to tell Harry the whole story himself. “Inspiration, you said? Have you found it?” 

Harry laughs — actually laughs — and they both flush bright red. 

“I think so,” he says. 

Louis feels his cheeks burn, and smiles.


End file.
